Semblance of Sapience

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more."
-yes, I quoted Poe again

Ahh, the constant beating at my door for a fleeting moment, is silenced. 

I put the period at the end of my first chapter today. Of course that is far from it being complete. But it is, in its own way, an accomplishment. The first chapter of the story itself is written. However, punctuation it seems will be a very consistent thorn in my side. A big, angry, bossy arrogant thorn. I do not like it. Not punctuation itself...but not knowing how to do it in a way that expresses perfectly what I am trying to say, While still being accurate and acceptable in novel form.

I want to write a good book with good ideas. But I am not a great, educated or experienced writer. My strong-suit is more in the category of concepts, ideas and scene building. But connecting the dots is literally, painful. If I am to try to do something that professionals do then I have to perform professionally. Pretty funny considering I am someone who claims to be doing this for me and me alone. This whole dreaded book thing (my apologies, Mortimer) started because I've spent my life starting books but never completing them. Dozens.  Dozens of great and not-so-great  ideas never came to fruition.  Laziness, busyness, tiredness, excuses, excuses, excuses. This book is a personal challenge. I may finish the book and never even attempt to publish. But that does not mean that I can do it halfheartedly. If I don't do it right, then technically all I did was plot some ideas down on paper. Having a beginning middle and end does not constitute a Novel. Rather it remains a collection of ideas, sequenced scenes and characters that will never take their first breath.

Like it or not I have to write something that resembles a coherent focused representation of something real. I am fabricating a story that needs to convince the reader to believe it. A story that the reader accepts as, and even wants to be real. Even if that reader, is just me. The suspension of reality. Its not actually that hard, until you screw up. I think we all love superman. I am borderline obsessed. He lives in our world and we accept that. Some long for it. Until that is, they deviate from the mythos...then suddenly something that is unbelievable but believed, becomes unbelieved, far fetched, lost or worse, really annoying and disappointing.

So, how do I do this? How does someone like me, write in a way that resembles someone who actually knows what they are doing? And how do I stay sane while doing it? How to I keep violent "head meeting keyboard" episodes from occurring and reoccurring?  How do I stop getting so overwhelmed that I walk away for days at a time too frustrated to sit back down and just write?  I am not sure that I can. Something has to give. Ultimately, what I do know is that I should. That giving up diminishes me as a person and discredits me as a writer (something I cannot even claim to be...sigh, this is exhausting).  Will I, once again prove that "I can't" when I know that I can...I think.

I hesitate to say that I am a writer. I feel that that is presumptuous, pretentious, and inaccurate. Sure, I am a person who likes to write. But that certainly doesn't make me a writer. Perhaps hobbyist would be the correct term? An aspiring writer may be better. So what makes a writer a writer? Does one wake up one day, decide they want to write, start a blog and call themselves a writer? I feel there is in some way, a degree of disrespect to great writers in that thinking. Will I have to be accomplished in some way to call my self a writer? Be published? Win an award? Honestly, I am not sure I will ever feel like a real writer...Truth is I still don't feel like a grown up. Sure the law says I've been one for nearly 20 years. But wasn't a light suppose to turn on or something? I never got a badge or official license, nothing. I ask myself...why do I need something official to tell me who or what I am? Why is it I always wait for reassurance, I need it, yet when I get it, I find it far from convincing? Is it crippling insecurity? Or do I just know myself better than anyone? Am I unwilling to accept complements because I am a realist who knows they are not true and that I am factually unworthy? Or is it because I simply cannot except that I might, in fact, be good at something? Is that the artist in me? The one who is  never 100% satisfied with my work. Or the classic self-deprecating me that keeps me in my perceived place? How long will I have to endure myself? Will me and myself ever not be such completely different entities? And is there a magic pill for that? (straight jacket, padded room?) And while I'm asking all these questions, is it really a bad thing that criticism holds more weight with me than praise?

I am not sure certainty will ever play a leading role in my life. But there are few things I am certain of. My belief in God. My devotion to family and my love for country. To me, these things are as natural at the color of my hair or my very average height. But they have little to do with my aforementioned capabilities. The ones that live behind the silken curtain. Rustling uncertainty their only lifelong companion. Longing for the assured fortitude that comes with experience and the legitimate reassurance that comes not from a loved one, but from a critic, or someone with a badge or a license of some kind. The one that believes her ideas are worthy of the ink on the paper, of being brought to life, while still believing she is unworthy of giving breath to the very life she created.

For now, I will enjoy this first feeling of accomplishment that will, I pray, precede many.

Hmmm, It seems the visitor is knocking again. I will try to ignore it for a short while and just enjoy my first chapter. But it will persist. It will persist until I succumb. Until fingers meet keyboard or pen meets paper again.  Until then, I hope it doesn't kill me....

~Raven-Don't come to me for clarity-Cloud. Because a cloud cannot exist in clear skies...